He had turned a different shade. It was visible even beneath the bronzed skin. He stretched out a hand and drew it back.

He turned to Honey.

“It is indeed … true …” he murmured.

“Go,” said Honey. “Every moment you spend here you are in danger.”

He went; I heard his heavy tread on the stairs. I sat up in my bed and laughed.

The days began to pass. They were tedious, monotonous. There was little to do. We worked tapestry, but it was not much to my taste. Often I saw Jake Pennlyon. I had to be careful, though, for he always looked up at my window and if he had caught me there and guessed at the truth I couldn’t imagine what his reaction would have been. I used to laugh sometimes to think how I was deceiving him; and that was the only thing that made these days bearable.

Once I suggested to Honey that we slip out at night and ride by moonlight. She pointed out to me that if we were discovered, even by one of the servants, all our efforts would have been in vain.

So I resisted the temptation; but how dull were the days!

My death was expected daily and it was considered something of a miracle that I was still alive. It was remembered that there had been an aura of mystery about my father. Honey was the great-granddaughter of a witch. The story went around that she had remedies which could cure even the sweat.

Jake rode over every day, but he didn’t come into the house. He talked to the servants. He questioned them closely. Perhaps he was still suspicious.

The plan was working satisfactorily in more ways than one, because it was giving John Gregory time to make his plans in comfort. Everyone was chary of visiting Trewynd when the sweating sickness was there.

After three weeks of this life Honey brought news.

Jake Pennlyon had decided to leave two weeks earlier. The weather would be more favorable and he would leave before the gales set in. There could in any event not be a wedding for some time.

From my window I surreptitiously watched the activity on the Hoe. They were loading fast; the little boats were going back and forth. I was fascinated. And at last came the day when the Rampant Lion drew up her anchor and sailed away, taking Jake Pennlyon with her.

He had written to me and the letter was delivered while I was watching the ship fade into the distance.

“The voyage will wait no longer, so I go earlier the sooner to be back,” he had written. “You will be waiting for me.”

I laughed exultantly. I had won.

As soon as the Rampant Lion had sunk below the horizon my recovery began. In a week I was about again. It was a long week, but we had to give our subterfuge some semblance of truth. The servants were amazed. Few people contracted the sweat and lived. Moreover, Honey had nursed me and come through unscathed.

Jennet came back to me at the end of the week. It was good to listen to her gossip.

She regarded me with something like awe. “They be saying, Mistress,” she told me, “that you have powers.”

I was not displeased that this should be said.

“They be saying that you be the daughter of him who was a saint. Didn’t he come not like others come and go in a mysterious way? And the mistress herself … she come from witches. That’s what they be saying.”

I nodded. “Well, here you see me, Jennet, almost as well as I ever was.”

“It be a miracle, Mistress.”

The days were long and the zest had gone out of them. The Hoe had none of the old excitement when the Rampant Lion no longer rode the waves and there was no danger of Jake Pennlyon’s suddenly appearing.

I began to think of going home to the Abbey. My mother would be pleased to see me.

Perhaps because there was so little of interest I began to notice Jennet. She had changed in a rather subtle way. There was something a little sly about her, secretive; often when I spoke to her she would start as though she feared I would discover some guilty secret.

She often went to the stables and I had come upon her once or twice in conversation with Richard Rackell.

I was sure they were lovers. Jennet was not the sort to hold out for marriage. That hazy expression in the eyes, that slight slackening of the lips, that air of knowledge told its own story. I discussed it with Honey.

“So Eve must have looked when she ate the apple,” I said.

“Perhaps we should get them married,” said Honey. “Edward does not like immorality among the servants. And Jennet, if she has lost her virginity, is the sort of girl who would go quickly from one man to another.”

I tackled Jennet. “I shall be going back to the Abbey very soon, Jennet.”

“Oh, Mistress, and what when he comes back?”

“Who?” I asked sharply, knowing full well to whom she referred.

“The master … the Captain.”

“Since when has he been master in this household?”

“Well, Mistress, he be master wherever he be I reckon.”

“That’s nonsense, Jennet. He is nothing here.”

“But he have spoken for you.”

“You don’t understand these matters. What I want to say to you is this. You go down to the stables often.”

The deep red stain in her cheeks told me I had come to the right conclusion. She cast down her head and her fingers plucked at her gown. I was sorry for her. Poor Jennet. She was meant to be a wife and a mother; she would never be able to hold out against the blandishments of men.

“Very well, Jennet,” I said, “you are no longer a virgin. You may well be with child. Have you thought of that?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“The master—the only master of this house—will be displeased if he hears of your conduct. He expects good Christian behavior from his servants.”

Her lips trembled and I put my arm about her. I had been brusque with her because with the utmost ease Jake Pennlyon had persuaded her to betray me. But now that she had become the paramour of Richard Rackell I could see her predicament more clearly. Poor Jennet was the kind of girl who was burdened—some might say blessed—with an overpowering sensuality. She was born to take and give sexual pleasure; and the reason why she would be a perpetual temptation to men was that they were a perpetual temptation to her. It was very much harder for her to stay on the path of virtue than it was for many others; therefore, one must try to understand and help her.

“Now, Jennet,” I said, “what’s done is done and there is no sense in mourning for virginity once it is lost, for that will not bring it back. You have been foolish and now you must make a decision. When I go back you would have come with me, but in the circumstances the man who has seduced you should marry you. I know who it is. I have seen you often together. Do not imagine that your creeping into the stables has gone unnoticed. If Richard Rackell is willing you shall marry him. It is what the master would wish. Does that not please you?”

“Oh, yes, Mistress, it does in truth.”

“Very well, I will see if I can arrange it.”

I was pleased really to see how relieved she was, for I was fond of the girl and I wanted to see her married and settled.

By the time Jake Pennlyon returned she would no doubt be big with child, for I imagined she was the kind of girl who would have a large brood of children. He would no longer be interested in her, so she would be saved from that ignominy; and by that time I should be at the Abbey.

I spoke to Honey about Jennet.

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” I said, “if she were pregnant already. Richard Rackell must marry her.”

Honey agreed and she sent immediately for Richard.

When he came into the punch room and stood at the table, that air of breeding struck me afresh. I could not believe that Jennet would be a very suitable wife for him. Still, if he had seduced her he must marry her.

Honey said: “Richard, I think you might be eager to marry.”

He bowed; his face was expressionless.

“You and Jennet, I believe, have been overfriendly.” She stressed the word “over” and as he did not reply she went on: “In the circumstances the master would expect you to marry her. When will you do so?”

He still hesitated. Then he said: “I will, in time.”

“In time,” I said. “What do you mean by that?”

“In … three weeks’ time. I would need that.”

I wondered why, but there was such an air of dignity about him that it was not seemly to press.

“Very well,” said Honey. “There shall be a wedding in three weeks’ time.”

“We will have a celebration,” I said. I was very anxious to make up to Jennet for having been harsh to her.

So it was arranged. A priest should come to the house—neither Thomas Elders nor John Gregory should perform this ceremony; it would be too public for that.

I summoned Jennet and told her the news.

“I shall give you your wedding dress and we will get Luce working on it immediately.”

Jennet began to weep. “Mistress,” she said, “I don’t deserve such. I don’t indeed.”

“Well, Jennet,” I said, “you have been a little too ready, but that is over. You must be a good wife to Richard and bear many children and then the fact that you did not wait for the ceremony will be forgotten.”

I patted her shoulder, but that only had the effect of making her weep the more.

Because the days were inclined to be tedious we talked a great deal about Jennet’s wedding. Edward had said the Morris dancers should come and we would play games and even have a cake with a silver penny in it that the one who found it might be King for the day.

Since the departure of the Rampant Lion, Sir Penn had been laid low with some periodic sickness the nature of which no one was sure, and we felt safe from all the troubles which might come from that quarter.

In the kitchen they had started to prepare for the feast we should have. Jennet had never had so much made of her before.

The days slipped away. I said to Honey: “As soon as Jennet is safely wed I will begin to make preparation for my journey home.”

“The scene is set,” said Honey. “Jake Pennlyon is on the high seas; his father is laid low; there is great excitement about the wedding. It would not be noticed for some days if you decided to leave. Heaven knows I shall hate your going. It will be so dull here without you, Catharine. But if he cut short his voyage and returned then it would be too late and we could not hope to fool him again.”

“If he ever knew how he had been fooled he would never forgive us.”

“His vengeance is something I would not wish to encounter.”

I shivered. “Yes, as soon as the wedding is over I will leave. Do you think Richard will be a good husband to Jennet?”

“He is a quiet, good-mannered boy.”

“He is strange. It is difficult to imagine his seducing Jennet.”

“I’d wager most of the seducing came from her.”

“Well, he is good and truly caught. I think she will be a good wife, though. She was overpersuaded by Jake Pennlyon to betray me, but I have forgiven her that, for I am sure she deeply regrets it.”

“For a girl like Jennet, Jake Pennlyon would be irresistible,” Honey said.

I changed the subject. I did not wish to think of Jake Pennlyon persuading Jennet. I had given too much thought to that matter already.

There came the night when for the third time I saw the Spanish galleon.

Such an ordinary day it had been—warm and sunny for the time of year, “unseasonable” they called it—a quiet, peaceful day. How was it that we could have lived through such a day unaware of the tremendous events which were awaiting us?

I was pleasantly tired when I went to bed and was asleep almost immediately.

I was awakened as I had been on other nights by unusual sounds below. I lay still listening. Shuffling footsteps, a scuffle. Some serving wench creeping out to meet a lover? I rose from my bed and went to the window.

There she was in all her glory. Closer than I had ever seen her—the mighty and magnificent Spanish galleon.

I must go down. I was not going to allow anyone to say that I had imagined my galleon this time. I would awaken Honey and Edward and insist that they look. I picked up a robe and wrapped it around me, but as I crossed to the door it was opened suddenly. John Gregory stood there.

I said: “What is wrong?”

He did not answer. He was wearing a long cloak with a hood; his face was pale, his eyes brilliant. He spoke then in a tongue I did not know and then I saw that there was a stranger with him.